Of course we followed at their heels. On
reaching the principal cavern, we found a singular scene. Two natives,
whom we had never seen before, were evidently in charge of some kind of a
ceremony. They wore tall, conical hats made of polished metal and covered
with hieroglyphics, and carried staves of iron in their hands.
"Priests," Edmund immediately whispered. "Now we'll see something
interesting."
The "priests" marshaled all the others, numbering several hundreds, into
a long column, and then began a slow, solemn march up the steps. The
leaders produced a squeaking music by blowing into the ends of their
staves. Women were mingled with men, and even the children were there,
too. We followed at the tail of the procession, our curiosity at the
highest pitch. At the rate we went it must have taken nearly an hour to
mount the steps, but at last all emerged in the open air, where the cold
struck to our marrow. The natives didn't seem to mind it, but we ran back
and donned our furs. Then we re-ascended and stepped out into the Arctic
night, finding the crowd assembled not far from the entrance to the
cavern. The frosty sky was ablaze with stars, and directly overhead shone
a planet of amazing size and splendor with a little one beside it.
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